Bearclaw Valley djinn

"therein lies your issue," the embittered hunter hissed, prepared to argue still, but indra's distraction from the subject and reactive steeliness towards it silenced stigmata on the matter. he was being too passionate; too forceful. he could better explain without the duress he felt about it - and the only way he could possibly hope to soothe the disquiet he felt in bearclaw was to find a solution to the problem before presenting the argument. the black doe was irrelevant, as far as he was concerned, and only a symptom of the bigger issue he had concerned himself with: the generational sustainability of a valley armed with but a single entrance.

he turned his mind off to the noise of his ambitions, instead casting his gaze out over the stilled herd with only mild interest. there was plenty there beneath him - and everything in general seemed so bountiful - but for how long? how high did the snows get here during the cold months; could they be snowed in? would the herds get irreparably thinned before the snowmelt? the task of attracting more deer here if numbers got low seemed more trouble than it was worth... stigmata, simply put, couldn't be satisfied with these thoughts until he was aware of and could reasonably predict the form of all angles.

he watched the red-spear of a she-wolf disappear into the tall grass, both marveling after her and irritated, and he hesitated to follow. though hunting had been his original intent, actually going for a kill had not; he didn't know if he felt like expending the energy. but in the end, this seemed to be a task better suited to him than worrying, so the world-weary wraith followed indra numbly and silent except for a small huff.